


My Favorite Things

by zebraljb



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraljb/pseuds/zebraljb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy offers Connor the only thing he has for Christmas:  himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

MY FAVORITE THINGS  
One

 

Connor whistles as he walks back to the flat, a six-pack of beer under one arm and a box of doughnuts under the other. He knows that the two didn’t really go together, but it is a chilly night threatening to become an even colder morning. And the next day is Saturday. He doesn’t welcome the idea of running out in thirty-degree weather to get breakfast, so it was coming home with the beer.

Of course, he could always just make Murphy go out and get breakfast; after all, Connor IS the older brother, no matter what Murphy says. They could measure their dicks until they were blue in the face, it didn’t make a difference. Ma had been drunk when she said that shite about cock size anyway.

Connor feels a shiver go down his spine when he thinks about Murphy and his dick in the same sentence. It wasn’t right, and he knew it. No one should feel that way about their twin, their brother, their other half. But Connor couldn’t help it. He had been in love with Murphy since he could remember, and had lusted after him since he had realized what lust really was. He wants to run his hands over that pale porcelain skin, kiss all the scars that marred it, scars that he himself had often put there. Not that Murphy didn’t annoy the living hell out of him like most siblings did to each other, but the difference was that after Connor was done being annoyed, he wanted to kiss and make up. 

 

Murphy lies on their threadbare sofa, tossing a small Nerf football into the air and catching it, when Connor burst through the door. “Aw, fuck, c’mon ya idiots!” Murphy yells, sitting up and glaring at the radio. “Ya play in tha fuckin’ NFL. Ya had ta do SOMETHIN’ right ta get where ya are! Christ!” He gets up and turns off the radio, frowning in disgust. “Fuckin’ Patriots.”

“I brought beer…an’ doughnuts,” Connor offers, smiling apologetically. Connor never got into American sports, except maybe a bit of baseball, but Murphy has become a diehard football fan, and spent many weekends griping over the Patriots and Boston College.

“Now there’s a combination I could get on board with,” Murphy says with a grin, football forgotten. He takes the doughnuts and puts them on the table while Connor popped them each a beer. “I knew ya loved me.”

“Aye,” Connor says weakly, trying not to watch as Murphy lifted his sweatshirt to scratch his chest. He flops down on his bed, careful not to spill his beer. “Want ta go down ta tha pub t’night?”

 

Murphy’s entire body jumps to attention when Connor comes into the apartment, though he covers it with his angry tirade against the Patriots. He has always had a sixth sense when it came to Connor, but over the last few years it had developed into an obsession. He knows it is against all laws of God and Man to want his brother like he did, but Murphy would have stopped breathing with less difficulty than it would have taken to stop loving and pining for his brother. Connor was everything that Murphy felt he himself was not…smart, cunning, crazy, sexy. Murphy feels like a raven to Connor’s peacock, and just knows that even if they were not related, even if Connor liked boys, Murphy would never be good enough.

Murphy welcomes Connor’s offering of beer and doughnuts with a happy grin, but the grin is more for the fact that his brother was back within sight distance than anything else. Murphy watches Connor fall onto his bed. “Tha pub?” Murphy replies absently. “Uh, sure, if ya want. M’happy just hangin’ around here t’night, though.”

“Ya okay?” Connor sits up, concern etched all over his handsome face.

“Aye, m’fine.” Murphy sits back down on the sofa, sipping at his beer. “It’s cold…m’tired…just don’t feel like goin’ out. Ya can go if ya want ta, though. Nothin’ keepin’ ya here.” He lets his head tilt back, eyes closing.

 

Connor stares at his brother, instantly worried. Murphy never says no to a Friday night at the pub. Hell, Murphy never says no to ANY night at the pub, unless he’s sick. Connor opens his mouth, desperately wanting to say that something most definitely WOULD keep him there, if Murphy would just agree to it. Instead, he says, “It won’t be as much fun without ya.”

Murphy’s eyes fly open, glaring at Connor. “Do we have ta go everywhere t’gether? Can’t we just, I don’t know, be apart for fuckin’ once? Be ourselves instead of tha fuckin’ MacManus twins?”

Connor blinks hard at Murphy’s outburst. “Of course we can.” He stands, grabbing for his coat. “Didn’t know it was such a fuckin’ hardship bein’ known as me brother. I’ll leave now, so ya can be yerself fer a bit without havin’ me around ta ruin it fer ya.” Connor is out the door with a slam.

“Fuck,” Murphy growls. He didn’t mean to snap at his brother, doesn’t mean the angry words. True, there are times when he wishes he wasn’t a twin, but it’s not because he’s ashamed of Connor or doesn’t like him. In fact, he likes him TOO much to want to be his twin. He’s just so tired of feeling frustrated, tired of wanting what’s right across the room from him, so close he can smell it but is not permitted to touch. “Fuck,” he growls again, picking up the toy football and whipping it at the wall across the room.

 

It’s two o’clock when Connor lets himself in the door, shivering against the surprising chill of the flat. The room is dark, barely lit by the gleam of a streetlight across the road that actually hasn’t been shot out by a gun. Connor glances down at the two empty beds, knowing before he sees it that Murphy isn’t in his. “Murphy?” Connor calls out quietly, tossing his keys to the table. His eyes grow accustomed to the dim light, and he sees a figure curled up at the open window. “Murphy!”

Murphy is snuggled close to the wall, head on his arms on the sill of the window. He doesn’t awaken, not until Connor shakes him by the shoulder. “Hmm?” Murphy’s eyes blink owlishly, narrowing slightly when he sees Connor. “What?”

“You’ll catch yer death, Murph!” Connor pulls Murphy away from the wall, closing the window. He rubs at Murphy’s arms, feeling the cold skin through the thin sweatshirt. “What tha fuck?”

“Waitin’ fer ya,” Murphy slurs, and it’s then that Connor smells the liquor on his brother’s breath. It’s more than beer, something like whiskey or bourbon…something they didn’t often drink. “Waitin’ an’ waitin’.”

“M’sorry I was so late. Thought ya were mad at me…hated comin’ home ta ya bein’ mad,” Connor murmurs. “C’mon, Murph. Ta bed with ya.” He helps Murphy to his feet, guiding his stumbling brother towards their beds. He sits Murphy on his bed, then digs around in the washbasket of clean clothes to find his warmest sweater. “Here. Let’s get this on ya.” He tugs Murphy’s sweatshirt off and fights to get his brother into the warmer sweater. “Now, under tha covers with ya.”

“M’sorry, Connor,” Murphy says, eyes wide as he watches his brother take care of him.

“Don’t worry about it. I already forgot,” Connor said. “B’sides, I owe ya fer all tha times ya’ve brought me home from tha pub like this.”

“No.” Murphy fists his hands in Connor’s jacket. “Not fer that. I mean, yeah…fer that.” Murphy closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to fight for words. “For how I feel. What I don’t say. I feel it…can’t say it though. Can’t take ya there.”

Connor looks at him strangely. “Ya shouldn’t drink tha hard stuff, Murph. Yer talkin’ crazy.” He pushes Murphy down to the bed. “Get under tha covers.”

“Connor.” Connor is shocked to see tears slide down Murphy’s cheeks, not able to remember the last time he’s seen Murphy cry. “Love ya, Connor. Love ya more than anyone, more than m’self, more than God.”

“Go ta sleep, Murphy.” Connor presses a kiss to Murphy’s forehead, then goes to the table to clean up Murphy’s mess.

It takes ten minutes for Connor to clean up the spilled whiskey, empty glass and sticky bottle. It takes another twenty for him to stop imagining that Murphy truly means it the way Connor wishes he did. Connor tidies up a bit more, just for something to do, then finally changes for bed, climbing onto the small cot next to Murphy’s. He can sense the shiver of Murphy’s body, trying to regain his body temperature after God knows how long in front of the window. Connor sighs and gets up, pulling his bed next to Murphy’s with an echoing screech of metal legs against cement floor. He flings his blanket over both of them, snuggling up against Murphy’s back, one arm around Murphy’s waist.

Sometimes Connor’s damn thankful for the cold.

 

Murphy wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling safe and warm, with the inklings of a hangover knocking on the door of his brain. “Fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters to himself, then realizes that the warm cover over his back is his brother. He closes his eyes, welcoming the familiar smell and touch of his twin.

“Shh, Murphy, I won’t tell,” Connor snuffles in his neck, and Murphy freezes. As children, they would both act out in their sleep, with Connor talking and Murphy walking. It would scare their mother to death, and she was eternally grateful when they both stopped around their early teen years. Murphy never walked now, but Connor would talk now and then, when he was nervous or anxious about something.

“What won’t ya tell, Connor?” Murphy whispers. You could usually carry on a conversation with Connor, as long as you knew what he was talking about. Murphy had found hours of amusement in these conversations in the past.

“Won’t tell what I want ta do,” Connor says, clutching Murphy closer to him. 

“What do ya want, Conn,” Murphy says, almost holding his breath. 

“Fuck, I want ya,” Connor moans in Murphy’s ear, kissing his neck, then going silent.

Murphy lays awake for hours after that.


	2. Chapter 2

MY FAVORITE THINGS  
Two  
Three Weeks Later

 

“Brown paper packages tied up with string,” Connor sings quietly to himself, smiling at the woman passing him on the sidewalk. She smiles back, blushing slightly. “These are a few of my favorite things…”

He adjusts the packages in his arms, trying to dig in his jeans for his keys. He curses himself; he always drops the keys into his pants before picking things up, instead of into his coat pocket. Connor smiles as his fingers touch metal, thinking of how Murphy will laugh at his purchases. He knows that Murphy misses home when the holidays roll around, more than any time of the year. They never had much money, were always just getting by, but their Ma had done her best to make the house seem festive. It was the one time all year where she really seemed to feel maternal, and she did what she could to make their holiday a good one. There was always some sort of tree, with a few presents underneath, even if they were just things she had picked up at the Five and Dime. Connor misses it, too, but he can always tell that it means more to their brother.

This is their fourth Christmas in the States, and Connor is determined to make it one that Murphy will never ever forget. Connor had sent Murphy along to work alone that morning, lying about a boot with a broken sole that needed immediate repair. After Murphy was gone, Connor quickly set up the tiny artificial tree he had hidden in a box of clothing. Then, after work, he had come up with a quick errand to run, excusing himself from Murphy’s presence long enough to run to the dingy dollar store on the corner to pick up garland, ornaments and lights. A sprig of plastic mistletoe had caught his eye at the register, and it feels like it’s burning a hole in his coat pocket. His face burns at just the thought of kissing Murphy.

Murphy. The reason Connor gets out of bed every morning, though lately he has been filled with more anxiety than usual. Murphy rarely smiles, is jumpy, and seems to find excuses not to touch Connor. Connor lives for those touches, and misses them with a pain he can’t quite explain. He wonders if he’s done something to Murphy, something to make him hate him. Connor can’t remember anything, but he hopes that whatever he’s done, the tree will serve as some sort of peace offering.

 

Murphy sighs tiredly as he unlocks the door of the flat, the room seeming exceptionally large and empty without Connor’s smiling face right behind him. Murphy tosses his keys to the table, shrugs off his coat, and turns on the light. He freezes, blinks momentarily, and feels a smile cross his face. There, between their beds, is a tiny Christmas tree. It’s a fake tree, but it’s green and shaped like an evergreen. That’s all that matters to Murphy. 

He walks over cautiously, as if the tree’s going to hop up and do the hula on his bed. He sits on Connor’s bed, hugging Connor’s pillow to his chest. Murphy’s always loved Christmas, loves laying under the tree and looking up at the twinkling lights. They haven’t really celebrated since coming to America…they usually buy each other a gift or two, but don’t go any further than that. Money is too tight and life too harsh to soften it up with ribbons, bows and garland. 

Murphy bites his bottom lip, hugging the pillow close and inhaling the scent of his brother. Ever since the night of Connor’s unconscious confession, Murphy has been on pins and needles around him, for the first time in their lives. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. Should he say something to Connor? Bring it up? Maybe Connor didn’t mean it the way Murphy wanted it to be. Maybe Connor was talking about something else. It has been driving Murphy up the wall, wanting desperately to reach out to Connor, yet feeling the familiar walls of propriety and religion shoving him back. If Connor wanted it, too, though, was it really wrong? The whole situation is slowly driving Murphy insane, and he can’t handle it much longer. He’s even been considering leaving after the start of the year, just packing up and going away. Away from Connor. Away from everything that makes Murphy Murphy.

Murphy looks down at the little tree. It was just the sort of thing that Connor would do for him, just a little treat to make Murphy smile. He hasn’t even bought Connor a gift yet, and Christmas is eight days away. Connor deserves the world, and Murphy can’t afford to give it to him. Can’t afford anything, really. What do you give someone who deserves the moon on a platter? 

“Everythin’,” Murphy says aloud. His voice echoes in the large flat, but it gives him courage. It’s all or nothing. He grabs his coat and hurries out of the flat, praying he gets back before Connor.

 

“Hey, Murphy, give me a hand, yeah?” Connor yells as he holds the door open with his foot. “Murph, c’mon!” Exasperated when he gets no response, Connor juggles everything as best he can without dropping it. He doesn’t want the cheap ornaments broken before they even get on the tree. Connor puts everything on the floor before closing the door and flipping on the light. Only then does he look around for his brother, ready to chew him out for being a lazy bastard. Connor’s thankful for the fact that everything he was previously carrying is now safely deposited on the cement floor, because he definitely would have dropped it.

Murphy’s lying on Connor’s bed, naked. Well, naked except for a thick red velvet ribbon, which is twined around his slender frame, wrapping him from head to toe, with a large red bow over his groin. A small note card lies between Murphy’s clamped teeth. Connor stares. He can’t help it. He’s torn between fear that some sick fuck has broken into their loft and tied Murphy up, and a slow burning lust that starts to rumble somewhere in his stomach. Murphy writhes slightly, then stops, eyes never leaving Connor’s face. One dark eyebrow slowly raises in what is an unmistakable challenge.

Connor walks over, still wearing his coat. He looks Murphy over for a long moment, then takes the card from Murphy’s mouth. Murphy smacks his lips together but doesn’t say anything. The card has Connor’s name on the envelope, and his hands shake as he opens it.

Connor…I’ve wanted to give you this gift for years now, and I hope you can receive it in the manner in which I offer it. I didn’t know what to give you for Christmas. You’ve always had my heart. Hell, you cut your teeth on it. But now…I give you all of me. Heart, body, soul. Not that I’m anywhere good enough for you, but it’s the best I can give. Myself. Merry Christmas, Connor. I love you. YOUR MURPHY.

Connor stares at the card for a long time, as if it’s written in one of the few languages he can’t read. He then looks up at Murphy, a stricken look on his face. He knows it’s there and wishes he could stop it, but he just can’t believe what’s happening.

 

Time turns into an evil thing, something that Murphy can actually feel as he stretches out on the bed, careful not to tear or move the ribbon. It’s taken him less time than he thought to bind himself with the red fabric, and he hopes he makes a desirable picture as he situates himself on Connor’s bed. He feels like an idiot, but at the same time, he knows he looks like what he’s trying to give. He’s trying to offer every part of himself, naked inside and out, for his brother. 

He hears Connor fumble and curse at the door, then feels the hot gaze as Connor’s eyes travel over him. Connor finally comes over, reads the note, and looks at him with an almost hurt expression. Murphy’s heart pounds until he’s sure the ribbon throbs with the beat. Waves of shame flow through Murphy, causing his skin to blush red with embarrassment. He closes his eyes, willing himself to stay immobile. No moving, no shaking…no crying.

 

Connor watches as Murphy blushes, his entire body turning red. Murphy’s eyes close and he doesn’t move, but Connor sees the tremble of Murphy’s lips. “Murphy,” Connor breathes, falling to his knees by the bed. “Don’t…stop.” He puts a gentle hand on Murphy’s cheek, turning Murphy’s head to face him.

“Go away,” Murphy whispers.

“No.” Connor shoves his coat from his shoulders and kicks off his sneakers. “I want to open my present.” 

Murphy’s eyes fly open, along with his mouth. “What?”

“It’s my Christmas present, right? I don’t have ta wait until Christmas ta open it, right?” Connor said, his hands shaking as he trails them along the velvet. “Can’t wait. Been waitin’ too fuckin’ long fer this.”

“What?” Murphy asks again, lust and shock and hope fighting for control.

Connor continues his quest over Murphy’s body, finding what he’s searching for, taped to the arch of Murphy’s left foot. The end of the ribbon. “A-ha,” Connor says. He untapes the ribbon, kissing Murphy’s foot. Murphy swallows, suddenly finding air a very rare commodity. The velvet falls from Murphy’s legs with a wisping sound as Connor weaves and slides it around, under, over. He ignores the bow, pulling Murphy to a sitting position so he can work on Murphy’s waist, arms, and back. Connor allows his fingers to thread through his brother’s hair as he frees Murphy’s head from its binding, and smiles as a slight dusting of red from the velvet lingers in the dark strands. “I think this is tha best gift I ever EVER received,” Connor said softly. 

“Connor,” Murphy says, and his voice is thin.

“Murphy,” Connor echoes in a similar tone, his hands reaching to cup Murphy’s face. He pulls Murphy in for a kiss, his tongue seeking entrance. Murphy allows it, fisting his hands in Connor’s shirt. “Fuck, Murphy,” Connor gasps as Murphy bites on his bottom lip.

“Glad…ya like it,” Murphy pants, sucking Connor’s lip and biting at it. “Been wantin’ ta give it ta ya for ages now.”

“M’so glad ya did,” Connor groans, pushing Murphy back down onto the bed. He gives Murphy one last hot kiss then sits back up, looking down at the bow. Connor grins, noticing that the bow has moved up a bit higher. “Looks pretty. Hate ta take it off.”

“Take it off, please,” Murphy says in a strangled tone. Connor carefully pulls the bow away from Murphy’s body. He’s seen Murphy’s dick a thousand times, but yet he cannot refrain from gasping. It’s thick and hard, pulsing with need, and it’s because of HIM.

“Christ,” Connor says, and he’s bending down to take it in his mouth before he knows what he’s doing. It’s smooth and sleek on his tongue, and he moans slightly at the warm taste of Murphy.

“Fuck!” Murphy yells, grabbing Connor by the hair. He didn’t really think past Connor finding him with the ribbon on, but now things are going very well, in Murphy’s book. Connor’s mouth is hot and experienced, his lips and tongue working Murphy in a way he hasn’t felt before. And Murphy’s been on the receiving end of a helluva lot of blowjobs. “Oh, Connor, please…please…”

Connor’s hands grab at Murphy’s hips, holding them down as they thrust towards his mouth. Connor lets his cheek slide across Murphy’s cock as he moves down to suck and tongue Murphy’s balls. He nibbles at the inside of Murphy’s thigh, letting his tongue run across the hair on Murphy’s leg. “Taste so good,” he breathes, and it’s true. Murphy tastes better than any dream Connor has ever had of him.

“Too many clothes,” Murphy pants, shoving at Connor shirt. “Need ya naked. Need ya inside o’ me, Connor…”

Connor shivers, his cock pulsing at the thought of being inside of his brother. “Yes,” he hisses, getting up on wobbling legs to strip. Murphy licks his lips as his eyes travel over his brother’s body. Connor looks down at him, eyes narrow with desire. “Murph, before we do this, have ya ever…”

“Aye,” Murphy answers, throat dry and hoarse. “A…a few times…tryin’ ta push ya outta me head.”

“So sorry,” Connor murmurs, digging threw boxes and junk under his bed before coming back out with a small box. 

“Did ya…I mean, I never even knew ya liked…” Murphy asks timidly.

Connor puts the lube and condom where they are easily accessible and smiles shyly at his brother. “M’not made o’ stone, had ta do it sometimes…sometimes with girls, sometimes with guys…” His hand is soothing as it runs up Murphy’s bare leg. “But always thinkin’ o’ ya…probably not so fair ta tha person I was with.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Murphy catches Connor’s hand, bringing the palm to his lips for a tender kiss. “What’s past is past.”

“Mmm.” Connor closes his eyes, enjoying the soft heat of Murphy’s lips on his skin. He feels Murphy bite at the meat of his thumb, and his eyes fly open to glare at his brother. “Bastard.” Connor opens the lube and wets a few fingers with the cold lotion, not even taking time to heat the liquid in his hands first. He tickles Murphy’s balls with a cold finger before sliding it down. 

Murphy hisses and arches up, cursing his body for reacting so wantonly. His legs fall apart almost on cue, and his hips arch up to Connor’s touch. “Fucker,” he growls, head falling back on the pillow.

“Aye, gonna be,” Connor says with a grin. Murphy’s body is hot and accepting, seeming to welcome every nudge and push of Connor’s finger. Another is added, and Connor watches Murphy writhe beneath him, beauty like Connor has never seen.

“Kiss me,” Murphy pleads, and that in itself is the best gift Connor could ever get. He withdraws his fingers, swallowing Murphy’s whimper in a kiss. The condom is plucked from Connor’s fingers, and Connor groans down Murphy’s throat, the kiss turning sinful as Murphy’s hand slides the condom onto Connor. 

“Murphy, Murphy, what are ya tryin’ ta do?” Connor gasps against Murphy’s mouth, feeling Murphy guide him into position.

“Givin’ ya tha last part of me. Ya’ve had me heart for ages now,” Murphy says, and Connor feels tears sting his eyes as he moves inside. Neither speaks for a long moment, letting the silence move them. Murphy’s hands dance over Connor’s back as Connor thrusts slow and hard, his heels sliding up and down the backs of Connor’s thighs.

Connor slides a palm behind Murphy’s head, holding it where he can look into Murphy’s eyes. He moves the other hand under the small of Murphy’s back, pulling him up into every thrust. “I love you, Murphy,” he says, hardly able to form coherent thought. “So beautiful, so wonderful…the best gift…only thin’ I ever wanted…”

“Mmm, yes, Connor, come for me,” Murphy begs, reaching down to his own cock. Connor’s eyes follow Murphy’s hand, unable to tear away from the sight of Murphy stroking himself. “Come in me, take me…yours always…”

“Always MINE,” Connor says with a grunt, thrusting harder. 

“Yours,” Murphy gasps, using his heels to urge Connor deeper. His free hand grabs Connor by the hair as he comes, hard stripes of white coating his stomach.

Connor’s mouth opens in a soundless scream before he brings Murphy’s head up to his, kissing him brutally as he comes. He buries his head in Murphy’s shoulder, letting the waves ripple through him as he slowly settles himself against Murphy. Murphy gasps for breath, holding Connor close as they come back down. “Am I too heavy?” Connor asks against Murphy’s skin.

“Never,” Murphy whispers, but Connor moves anyway, lying partially over Murphy and partially beside him. His head rests on Murphy’s chest, which still heaves with a need for oxygen.

Finally Connor moves up to rest his chin on Murphy’s sternum, looking up into the face he loves so much. “So.”

“So.” Murphy looks everywhere but at Connor, up at the ceiling, out the window.

“What?” Connor sits up, biting at his bottom lip. “Ya hate me?”

“Hate ya?” Murphy stares at Connor as if he’d never seen him before. 

“M’sorry, Murphy. I thought ya wanted it, too. Thought ya wanted ME.” Now it’s Connor’s turn to look away. 

“Ya stupid fuck, I do want ya. Would I have done somethin’ so dumb, wrappin’ m’self in fuckin’ ribbon, embarrassin’ m’self, if I didn’t want ya?” Murphy yells, sitting up as well. “It’s been killin’ me since that night when ya told me ya wanted me. Had ta do somethin’!”

“Since I did WHAT?” Connor gasps in horror.

“In yer sleep,” Murphy mumbles, blushing. “That night a few weeks ago, ya told me ya wanted me. And Christ, Connor, I’ve been waitin’ ta hear that fer ages. So I decided ta just DO somethin’ about it.” Murphy tilts his head, looking at Connor shyly. “Ya…ya do, right? Because fuck, Connor, I want ya. I know it’s wrong, an’ sinful, an’ illegal, but I do. I want ya almost as much as I love ya.”

Connor is red with embarrassment, he can feel it. But under the shame, he feels hope. A sparkle of hope, growing to a flame. “I meant it, Murph. I love ya, an’ I wanted this.”

“Then quit bein’ a fuckin’ prick about it,” Murphy says, grinning. “I don’t hate ya. Though yer actin’ pretty fuckin’ stupid right now.”

“Shut up,” Connor growls, punching his brother in the side. 

Murphy lets out an oof, then grabs Connor by the hair, pulling him in for a rough kiss. “Kiss it an’ make it better,” he demands.

“Later,” Connor says with a grin, letting his forehead rest against Murphy’s. “Want a shower. Then I want ta decorate yer tree. That’s what I bought after work. Decorations.” Suddenly it sounded stupid.

“Yer so fuckin’ good ta me,” Murphy says, and it’s obvious by his tone that he’s touched. “Sounds like a great idea. Ya give me the nicest presents.”

“Not as nice as tha one ya just gave me,” Connor says. Murphy opens his mouth to argue but is soon happily silenced by his twin.

THE END


End file.
